Knowledge
by Kendoka Girl
Summary: Old Flemeth desires her youth again, but the world may be engulfed in flames soon.  Flemeth knows opportunity when she sees it though.  Backstory that fits into "Vengeance."
1. Knowledge

W/N - Thanks so much for the input to do some further backstory chapters between Ostagar and Haven. This piece fits into the Vengeance story just around the time of the Elric Maraigne chapter. Like Tea, Incense and the Sea, I'm going to do this first person. Many thanks to Roxfox, EE, Ygrain, Thug, and Hubs for their support and input. I also highly recomment Roxfox's and Ygrain's wonderful fics too. Let's look at Flemeth now. I always got a creepy kick out of how she would refer to herself in the third person. CODEX - Honey Pot - pot for human waste.

Other malarkey - running off those holiday calories. My new Iaito will likely be the Ise blade from the Token Mino site online. It is a custom weapon and I am looking at the Kiyomitsu Hamon (wavy pattern at the cutting edge) and Yagyu tsuba (guard), aqua handle wrap and brown saya (scabbard). Just as a memorial to be dead sword I'm going to write in someone's blade breaking traumatically.

Please enjoy and suggestions are most welcomed.

**The Korcari Wilds - just prior to the Battle of Ostagar**

My daughter's words of the progress of our little forest party give me hope. It is amusing to hear her speak of the scurrying and the scrabbling of these people, who call themselves Grey Wardens. I suppose that their cause is…I can't quite find the word for it for it falls short of _just_. I'd long since given up on that word. Still, their visit to my humble abode gave me pause. I was impressed by the female, the one called Alice. She seemed to know things beyond her years. She will be useful.

In contrast, Morrigan is so naïve and simplistic in her view of these things that fall beyond the borders of the Wilds. I wonder if it was a mistake to keep her so cloistered. She would hiss at me if I told her that she is just as much a prisoner as a Chantry sister is. She knows nothing of friendship. She knows nothing of men. I know she sneaks off into some of the surrounding villages and sometimes all the way up to that insignificant spot of dirt known as Lothering. I have to laugh. She thinks that Flemeth doesn't know.

If only Morrigan knew the truth, that disrespectful smile of hers would fly away like a bird. There are times that I want to care…want to actually think of her as a daughter, but I must remind myself that she is only a tool, no more than a pot or a kettle. She has kept her young body fit though and she is oh, so beautiful, much like Flemeth used to be…and shall be again.

As a chilly evening descends, I see a doe trot up to my squalid hut and I know that it is she. She paws her hoof on the ground and snorts, giving her ever-present subtle defiance of me. I watch as the doe's fur and skin ripple and undulate, rapidly changing into human skin and Chasind clothing. "Ah, Morrigan, did you have fun in the Wilds with your friends?" I ask, mocking her lack of companionship.

She rolls her eyes and sighs as always. She thinks that I don't expect this from her. Flemeth has seen this juvenile behavior for centuries from many daughters long before Morrigan was even a gleam in some Chasind man's eye. Flemeth knows her every move…her every thought before she even knows it herself. "_Friends_?" she says as if she is speaking of the contents of a honey pot. "Oh, mother, your comedy never ceases to amuse me."

I have to admit that I am curious. I am old and wise enough to know that my fate is tied to the fate of the Wardens. Should they fail, the whole of Thedas could be swallowed by the Blight. I have seen the gathering of Darkspawn in the rifts and valleys of the Wilds. They are like a tidal wave that will crash down upon Ferelden and drown its people. Even the one called Duncan doesn't know the full extent of the threat. I have no wish to die, which is why I am doing what I am doing. "Morrigan, if you wish to play some more, do it later. Tell me of the Wardens, dear," I say without the emotion tied to such a personal label.

She raises a knowing eyebrow – we both understand the joke. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I wonder if she does know. But no, it is just my imagination. Morrigan is far too smug in her tiny world view to realize the truth. "Dear mother, you would be pleased to know that the army, or whatever they are, is ready for battle. There is talk of the Darkspawn attacking tonight."

So, I was right. The fate of nations will be decided soon. I really care not, but I do care if Flemeth survives. I will need to take a close look. "Ah, wonderful. Remain here, Morrigan. I will see to this myself now."

She forces a grin, the muscles in her face tensing in all the wrongs spots to be genuine. "Lovely. I'll have a sweet porridge awaiting your return. Lots of raisins, just as you like it."

I snort out a chuckle, which grows into a cackle, causing Morrigan to step back. It's well she should as I spread my arms and tap into the vast reservoir of power that is Flemeth. My body grows and feathers spring from my skin as my feet curl into talons. Morrigan steps back again, a hint of fear shadowing her face. I enjoy seeing her eyes bulge and her jaw drop as I tower over her now, wings unfurled. She knows nothing of true power.

With a cry I take to the air, stroking my wings downward to push the air behind me. I am free once more, soaring into the gathering darkness. Just past sunset I can see the fires in the distance, flickering torches that make for an orange ocean of flame. That may be the entire world soon if something is not done. I circle in the black sky, well above the prying eyes of both human and Darkspawn, watching and waiting. Time goes by and then the creatures of the Deep Roads attack and arrows pour into them. It is a scene that Flemeth knows well, war and death. This play never changes. The king's pikemen drive into the shattered horde and scatter them like leaves in a gale. But, it is not over. Flemeth knows this.

With the eyes of an eagle, I search the army for the ones I met earlier. They must survive. I need them. As the Darkspawn horde advances again, many times the force of the first attack, I realize that I cannot find them and I grow worried. I care not for this king or his minions…there will always be kings and minions, but I must have these Wardens. The new assault is met by waves of Mabari hounds. They are fierce and powerful beasts, but they will fail. Howls, snarls, shrieks and the braying of dogs echoes through the valley leading to Ostagar and I watch as the Darkspawn break through. Arrows fall like rain, but the horde presses on. Monstrous creatures hurl boulders into the ranks of men, scattering them like toys. A rock crashes into the king's guard, knocking his captain senseless.

Waves crash upon the wall of steel and wood, eroding it like a sand castle. The king rides in, brave as many kings are brave, skilled as many kings are skilled. This will not help him. Flemeth knows this. He is unhorsed as members of his guard fall around him. He falls back, hewing and slicing around him, leaving a mound of dead in his wake. He tries to reform his line and rally his troops, but they are dissolving like paper in a pool of water. Uncounted minutes pass and the king makes his way back to where the captain of his guard is reviving. Then, I see it, a scuffle on the nearby tower. I see a handful of people charging into a group of Darkspawn that includes a massive ogre. The brute sweeps two of the king's soldiers over the battlements of the tower, but Alice slices it across the throat and then drives the tip of her sword into its open mouth, silencing its scream. Good for her. She will help to ensure my survival. I bend one wing and dive towards the tower as a blazing beacon is lit.

As I close in, I can see a huge part of the king's army retreat without even having offered battle. Treachery perhaps? This was ever so in the hearts of men for as long as Flemeth has known them. I see the king fall, followed by the one called Duncan. His army breaks. I must hurry.

Darkspawn surge up onto the tower and the one called Alistair meets them, hewing two of them before they can gain a foothold. A black arrow flies and sinks into Alice's chest and she falls back, clutching at the wound, her helm clattering on the ground. Am I too late?

Alistair moves to protect the fallen girl, holding his shield over her as arrows _thunk_ on it, perforating it like a pincushion. I swoop in, flapping my wings, swirling the air atop the tower. Darkspawn are blown away, some skidding across the stone, some falling over the tower's edge to their death below. I seize the two Wardens in my talons and soar off into the night. Alice is weak, she is bleeding, but she is alive. She will serve my purpose and I will be once again young and beautiful as I have been many times before. Flemeth knows this.


	2. Ignorance

W/N - Many thanks again! I totally had to add poor Cyrano in and in a bit of a humorous way. Like any mother/daughter relationship, Flemeth only _thinks_ she knows all there is to know. So, let's take a look at Morrigan. I wanted to paint her as a lonely girl, full of bravado, but lacking a lot of social skills and empathy. Sort of an out of control homeschooling where she daydreams a lot. We'll look at Morrigan again before the confrontation with Flemeth.

Other malarkey - We went to the Japanese Culture Faire. There was a demonstration of kyudo - zen archery as well as kendo. We sat in with the anime adventure club and manga bento fest, where I learned to draw a chibi usagi rabbit samurai. I am anxiously awaiting my new sword, which should be here on Wednesday. I lost a duel to sensei on Thursday, but won on Saturday, 5-3. I'm getting the feel of Mu Shin (no mind), which is like having the Force. :P You just feel ripples of energy along the blade and know what your opponent is going to do. Ei ei ei ooohhh! (samurai cheer)

**Flemeth's Hut - Night of the Battle of Ostagar**

My mother _thinks _she knows everything. Admittedly, she is very powerful and I envy that power. I have to sigh at the thought, but there are things I keep hidden deeply within me that she knows nothing of. I stir the pot of porridge with my old wooden spoon, one of the few things that I actually value in this squalid hut. I chuck in a few raisins and then a few more and churn the bubbly goo that simmers over a warm fire. Mother asked where I had gotten this favorite recipe of hers and I told her that a soldier in a passing caravan gave me this _grand delicacy_. T'is a truthful statement on its face.

I lift up a spoonful of the porridge and wave a finger over it, gathering a chill in the air to cool the mouthful for a taste. I have to chuckle at the seemingly inconsequential use of magic. Such a simple act t'would be branded as heresy by the mindless Chantry fools and the Circle stooges who think that they control every spell and incantation. They know nothing of true magic. If they had any inkling that I had used my foul apostate skills to avoid burning my tongue, there would be a horde of Templars knocking at the door of my hovel…if they could even find it past mother's glyphs.

I indulge myself in imagining the helmeted goons banging on the door and shouting, "Evil apostate witchy woman, we are the big strong Templar knights! Come out and face the Chantry's justice!"

I would go and open the way in and bat my eyelashes at them and gesture the brutes inside. "Oh dear, I, evil apostate witchy woman, have been caught cooling my porridge! You are surely doing the revered Maker's work and spending the Chantry's tithe sovereigns wisely. Can I interest you in also ransacking our shack? We have a moldy wolf pelt that no longer has any fur and a leaky wash tub. And…where was it now…my recipe booklet…ah, t'is here. I'm missing page two of my amazing stew, but just throw in a carrot and some parsley and you'll do fine."

Oh, I do so amuse myself. These flights of fancy do keep me sane. I sometimes catch myself talking to the wolf pelt as I feel that I should be talking to _someone_. "T'is not such a bad thing, is it?" I say to the scraggly, hairless skin lying on the floor. I imagine myself a player in one of those Lothering productions, crowds laughing at my witty repartee. I bow to applause.

With a snort, I roll my eyes and release the image back into the Fade. Mother would have my head if she knew I was doing anything other than catering to her and studying her lessons. I taste the blob of goo at the end of the spoon and I have to smile. It brings back a memory that I escape to from time to time. Ever since mother taught me to shape shift I have found myself further afield, wandering the woods and hills, learning of the animals and watching the people. I suspect that mother knows I have done this, but I have been careful about other things. I like to think that I am quite daring in this.

I think about how I learned this recipe not so long ago. I had just mastered shifting into the shape of a bear and was watching the slow progress of a caravan heading to Lothering. At first, I was too cautious to approach very closely, the memory of mother's rebuke at the bauble I _acquired_ still fairly fresh in my mind. But curiosity got the better of me and I turned myself into a cat, sneaking along on silent paws behind the ox carts and mounted guards. They talked about being afraid of the Chasind or the Dalish. T'is always about fear with these people. I suppose that if you oppress or torment a people like the elves for long enough you should be afraid of them. I twitched my whiskers at how none of these folk would ever know any sense of freedom.

I vividly recall one man among the caravan, who did not seem afraid and that intrigued me. I'd seen far too many skittish men who really should have been deer or squirrels if their inner selves were manifested in their outer form. But this one was different. I had to find out why. They passed another caravan and I saw my chance. New people mixed in with old and, with a thought, I grew back into a woman, standing on two feet. I emerged from behind a wagon and strode in as if I belonged there. A smile and a wink earned me the ability to walk around without any suspicion. Then, there he was, the captain of the guard, sitting in front of a pot of porridge on his fire, honing his sword. Without looking up, he asked if I was lost and I told him no. For the first time since my mother destroyed the pretty golden mirror I felt my skin flush and my heart skip a beat. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I sensed that it was beneficial this time. It was good that the man knew what I wanted without all of the awkward conversation. Perhaps I still had too much of the cat within me. I did get the recipe for the porridge too.

I lean back in my chair and sigh at the memory. I am certain that mother knows nothing of those moments for surely I would incur her wrath if she did. It brings me a strange sense of power to know that I have kept something hidden from her, no matter how inconsequential. I notice that the porridge is now of the perfect, runny consistency that mother loves. I wave my hand and the fire dies.

As if on cue, I hear the _thrum_ of giant wings flapping in the night. I rush to the door and open it just as mother lands, her form still shifted into that of an enormous bird, much larger than our hovel. She hovers for a moment, gently setting down a man and a woman from her talons. I then see a Mabari hound, its jaw firmly attached to mother's tail feathers. I have to chuckle at this comical sight as the hound lets go and mother settles her claws onto the ground.

The man thrashes about and jumps to his feet as mother shrinks back into human form, feathers absorbing back into her skin. She rubs her behind and cackles at the dog. "Strong grip you have there, my friend."

The man removes his helmet and I recognize him – the fool from the forest. He is afraid and powerless like all the rest…I can see it in his face, that terrified look that a mouse gets when a cat strikes. He staggers back and falls on his behind, raising his hands as if to ward off a blow from mother. How pathetic. Only the dog shows any nerve.

Instead of rending the man's bowels as she should, mother kneels over the woman, whom I also recognize from the forest. The woman, a Grey Warden, was the only one who didn't squeal like a frightened pig when I confronted them near that chest. Now, the Warden lies still, a black shafted arrow buried into her chest up to the fletchings. Mother presses her palm onto the woman's chest and a green light glows at her touch. The Warden gasps.

"Morrigan, don't just stand there," mother says in a chastising tone. "Snap off the arrowhead so I can pull the shaft out. Be quick about it."

The man, who I believe is named Armister or Ballister or something, merely sits there, gawking, while his leader lies bleeding. I should have expected no more from him. I grasp the wood just behind the arrowhead and break it sharply. Mother heaves with both hands and the stub disappears back into the woman's leather armor. The girl bucks her hips upward, gurgling up blood and tries to grasp my tunic with red stained fingers. Mother and I settle her back down and mother's hands glow green once again. The hound whimpers, worried for his mistress' life no doubt.

"Help me get her inside," I am told and we lift the Warden up in our arms. Only then does Armblister deign to help us. We rush into the shack and set the woman down…on my bed. I sigh. T'would be best if I make the floor comfortable by the fire for now. Mother doesn't need to tell me what to do – I immediately point to the smoldering embers of the stove and a fire blazes anew. I fill a pot with water and set it next to the cooling porridge. I pull out a roll of cloth and begin cutting bandages.

Mother and I work together like two wolves on the hunt, perfectly in synch. Hands moving in a coordinated flurry, we pull her leather breastplate off, tear her tunic, and spread a plaster over the girl's wound just as bandages are wrapped around her. Mother's hands glow orange now and she presses them down on the woman's chest, easing her breathing into a deep slumber. "The worst has passed. She will live and, thanks to my power, won't even have a scar."

Mother glances at me and grins. For a brief moment, I feel this thing others have called…_closeness._ I am speechless.

"Will she be alright?" the man asks. Didn't mother just answer that question? My opinion of Alkeester doesn't improve. Mother nods and he sinks to the floor, putting a hand over his eyes. He begins to shake and I see water running down his face. I got the back of mother's hand when that happened to me…years ago and it was the last time. The people, they call those…tears…a sign of weakness.

"What is the matter?" I ask. "Beyond a few scratches, you aren't even _wounded_. If anything, the dog should be more distressed than you and look at him, sitting attentively at his mistress' bed, ever alert."

Alistair…yes, that's his name…Alistair chokes and wipes snot from his nose. His face is red and puffy. "I am _not _wounded. Our army was destroyed, we were betrayed and our king was slain. Is that not enough for you?"

"Oh, well, t'is in the past now. Perhaps you would like some porridge? I prefer it more globby, but mother likes it runny-"

He slams his fist into the wall. "Porridge? I don't want any porridge! My…I…Duncan…."

I shake my head. The man is not making any sense. Hot porridge would be a welcome meal on this cold night. I try to appeal to his sense of reason. "It has raisins. Mmmm…_raisins_," I say slowly as if to a slow child.

"You just don't get it do you? You just don't know! My mentor, the man who taught me…befriended me…is dead, slaughtered by the Darkspawn and betrayed by the very people who swore to fight by our side."

I step back and snort. So, this is gratitude for saving them? Perhaps it is better that I don't know. Perhaps, ignorance is indeed bliss.


	3. Slumber

W/N - A warm arigato gozaimasu again. I'm going to try something just a bit different. This will be told as a flashback from Morrigan's POV and we'll pick up at the Tower going into the Fade. I'm going to take just a bit of artistic license here in how she responds to the what happens to the Circle and in the Fade. I hope that the contempt that she shows for certain things shows through, but also a little of her vulnerability. I think we'll tackle more of the Fade next.

Other malarkey - I slowed down a bit for a crazy work schedule. I am still waiting on my new sword, still using my old one that is now too light and too short. I'll have to write a scene where someone's sword breaks and they get that oh, sh*t moment of just holding a handle. I also want to do one with Mikhail Dryden (Soldier's Peak DLC) and the forging of a sword. Being the geek that I am, I named my favorite shinai, Starfang.

Please enjoy and, by all means, let me know of any suggestions or ideas.

**The Circle Tower - After the Cleansing of Redcliffe.**

I have always considered myself confident and self reliant, one who could survive on her own wits and put fools to shame. Today, the Tower has shaken that belief. In order to save the pathetic Arl Eamon and his dolt of a son, I came with the Grey Wardens, thinking that I would just scoff at the plight of the mage sheep here and play out my antipathy with the Templars. However, I found great and terrible power here, much to my surprise. I had seen death and destruction before, after the Battle of Ostagar, but the vile horrors here made my skin crawl. T'was as if the very walls themselves were made of decaying flesh and oozing sores filled with feeding maggots. Though a cold pit grew in my gut, I put on a brave face. I could not show the Wardens that I had any fear or they might not respect my power and that would be dangerous.

But, let me tell you how it all began a few days ago. After clearing Redcliff Castle of the droll undead, I kept my cool sense of insouciance the whole ride up to the Tower, even enduring the mindless chatter between that stupid former Templar and that blathering Chantry girl. If she were to speak of shoes and ribbons once more, I swore, I would have electrocuted her. Then, that big, yappy mutt of the Warden's…he just had to put a dead chicken in my unmentionables…. A gift, Alice said. I'll gift that dog's mouth shut if he doesn't stop barking at night. At least that Qunari, Sten, knew how to keep his mouth closed and mind his own business. I liked that. And Alice too…. I think that she understands true power. She wields her sword with single-minded determination for vengeance and lets nothing stand in her way. I believe I can find respect for that.

So, we arrived at the lake and entered the tower, only to find Templars cowering in the corner like children. T'was amusing to watch them quiver in terror. Maybe they could gain _some_ empathy for the lives they snuffed out merely because someone _might_ want to cool some porridge without a helmeted goon looking over their shoulder. But, somehow, I doubted it. Then, that Greagoir fellow went on and on about how the mages were all dead and about rites and other meaningless things. In essence, he was going to cleanse the Tower. Now, I don't have a whole lot of sympathy for the mage sheep that reside here, but they should at least be given the chance to live and run away at some point. I'm not a heartless shrew, you know.

I was impressed when Alice backed him down and we were _allowed_ to retake the Tower. Not that he could have stopped us, mind you. And, the fact that not one Templar volunteered to accompany us solidified my opinion of them – little people in suits of armor that are far too big for them. So, we sauntered on in to find an old woman and a bunch of children fending off a demon. I watched for a moment to see the old woman's technique. I could grudgingly admit that she wielded some power and she flattened the demon into the floor with a sweep of her staff. When we approached, she seemed suspicious, but wisely accepted our offer of help. The mage, Wynne, seemed the sort that will grow to annoy me, but for now, I shall consider her an ally.

Wynne led us up through the Tower where we encountered a man, still alive and unharmed by the rampage around him. This man, Owain, was like a talking statue, no more than an animated corpse. In a zombie-like monotone, he droned on about some Niall and a book. I asked him what was wrong with him and he told me he was a…Tranquil, a lobotomized freak from the sounds of it. I would hurl myself off of a cliff if such a thing should happen to me, but from what he said, I t'wouldn't care at that point. Wynne gave me a disapproving look when I turned my nose up at him. Yes, she will annoy me.

The way up through the Tower brought a few satisfying frays. We abolished an abomination and rended a revenant. My personal favorite was when I infected the mind of a blood mage and caused him to run out of the window of the tower. T'is a long way down.

But, from then on, the way became increasingly uncomfortable, like teeth that are clenched too tightly. T'was as if there were the sound of roaches constantly scurrying beneath the floor, skittering and chittering and I could not shake the feeling of dread that was building with every passing step.

T'wasn't that I was unnerved by any of the demons or silly abominations that the mage sheep had become because they were distracted when heating water…t'was the Fade. Let me explain here. We came upon a Sloth Demon, a grotesque caricature of a person that seemed to be a pulpy mass of scaly and rubbery flesh with sleepy eyes. It stood over a man that lay at its feet, holding a book. T'was that the book that the zombie man spoke of?

My mind immediately grasped a spear from a statue and I thought to impale the demon with my magic, but my vision became hazy as it spoke. His words resonated through my head and the weapon clattered to the ground. I shook my head, but cotton seemed to fill my ears and my mouth. Though I could hear the demon's voice, I could barely understand him as I sagged to my knees. That fool, Alistair, toppled over and began snoring while Cyrano whimpered and settled down on his hindquarters from his fearsome stance. Even the great Sten leaned against the wall and then slumped over, cradling his massive sword. Nearby, Wynne and Leliana was already dozing…no wonder there. I tried to get up, but it felt as if I were wearing the heavy armor that encased the warriors. Ahead of me, Alice stumbled, the metal of her poleynes and greaves _clanging_ on the floor. She looked at me as if to ask something, but her eyes rolled back into her head and she slid to the ground. Ah, I had the satisfaction of being the last to succumb to this dirty trick. That satisfaction soon faded as I felt the cold tiles pressing on my cheek. All became dark.

Then, I felt fine. T'was as if I had woken from a gentle nap on a summer day. I _knew_ that something t'was amiss, but I couldn't quite place it. I was back in my bed, but the sheets were fine cotton and warm. I narrowed my eyes and looked around to find myself in our measly shack, but the pelts were fresh and clean and I could smell a rich broth bubbling on the stove. I know the Fade…I have been there many times and, as a mage, can maintain my wits there. But, this was different somehow. I felt…good.

"Ah, you're awake, dear daughter," a voice said from the shadows. I began to formulate my usual sarcastic response, but this voice, the voice of my mother, was kind and without guile.

"I…uhhh, yes, I am." I thought the cautious approach best and slowly placed my feet on the floor. It felt real enough.

Flemeth emerged from the darkness and her eyes were full of light with a smile on her lips. I almost laughed from the ludicrousness of the image, but I found I could not. I…liked seeing her this way. She sat on my bed, next to me and held out a bowl of hearty broth, which I took with a little wariness. I took a sip and found that it was not too hot and not too cold, but just right. I turned to see Flemeth still smiling, not a hint of deception behind it. She ran a hand down my face to cup my chin. No one had ever touched me that way, not even the captain of the caravan that I now kept hidden away in my mind. No one had ever looked into my eyes with any warmth or a reassurance that nothing was wanted from me where all I needed to do was exist and I would be appreciated. I was speechless. Every fiber of my being screamed for me to run into the wilds, change into a bird and fly away, but my head slowly slid into the crook of my mother's neck and I closed my eyes and let her stroke my hair.


	4. Illusion

W/N - A hearty arigato gozaimasu! I'm having fun writing Morrigan and Flemeth. Let's shift back to another POV to fill out the Tower. As EE suggested, I'm going to take an entirely different view on what happens rather than go to Weisshaupt. As usual, this story arc will be longer than I expected if I'm going to do it justice. I'll have some notes at the end so as not to spoil the chapter. This pickes up immediately after the last Morrigan falls asleep.

Other malarkey - Because I am a total geek, I've been making Dragon Age icons, which I'll put up on my LJ site. I've got fCousland, Leliana, Morrigan, Wynne, Alistair, Oghren, Loghain, Anora and Eamon so far. I got a little crazy and did one of Eamon driving a tricked out lowrider and Oghren dunking a basketball too. We learned the last four katachi ( sets) of the Eishin Ryu Iaido school. They are fast and crisp paired sets, using wooden bokken, where you trade attacks and parries with a partner. Masayuki Shimabukuro Sensei has some excellent examples of this on YouTube.

So, please enjoy and I am very grateful for input and ideas.

**Illusion**

I clear my head with a shake and blink my eyes. Faint images of another existence flit about in my head before they begin to fade. I try to hold onto them – a tower of mages, grotesque creatures, a sultry demoness holding a Templar in thrall. I wipe crusty flecks from my eyes and realize that it's just a bad dream. _Now_, I am awake.

A man with a familiar smile leans over me and extends a helping hand. "We have him cornered, little sister. He cannot escape this time."

I stop for a moment as I focus on Fergus' face. At first, I have no memory of how I got here or even where I am. Then, visions of my rescuing my brother from the Wilds and our pursuit of Teyrn Loghain coalesce and I remember that we are in Denerim and that Leliana found us a secret entrance into the palace so that we might have our vengeance upon him. "I have waited so long for this."

Fergus pulls me up onto my feet and clenches his teeth in a grimace. "And he will face the same fate that we visited upon Arl Howe. You were wise to send that bastard to the gallows and deny him the death of a noble through the headsman's axe."

Raw energy surges through my body as if I had just taken a drink from a font of strength and willpower. I feel renewed and full of purpose. I have lived for nothing but seeing the men behind my family's destruction, themselves destroyed. "And Loghain will be no different. I have kept a hangman's noose in my pack just for such an occasion." I can still see Rendon Howe dancing at the end of my rope, his eyes bulging and his tongue swelling. Somehow though, the vision seems forced. I can't quite understand why. I recall putting the noose around the traitor's neck as surely as I can see Fergus standing here before me. No matter, we are here now and the end is at hand. Not even the Archdemon can deny me my vengeance.

Fergus hands me my cuirass and helps me to strap on the numerous pieces of armor that define my harness. With every metal plate that goes on my body I grow in power and resolution as if my very life force feeds some entity beyond my understanding. Whatever it may be, it can devour my very soul if it means that Loghain will not live out the day. I pull on my silverite covered gauntlets as my brother straps our family sword to my hip. He places his hand on my shoulder and grips gently. "Fear not, little sister, we will see justice." Like me now, his easy-going manner is gone, replaced by a fierce and unyielding fire that would consume all of Ferelden if left unchecked.

I nod and adjust the bevor protecting my throat. I pick up my polished silver helmet and ask, "Where is Leliana? We should get going."

Leli enters with my Mabari hound and she waves us over to the door. There is something odd about my Orlesian companion though. I stop to observe her and her hair is longer than I remember and she has a harder edge to her. I try to compare her to the image that I have in my mind, but it's fuzzy. Last I seem to recall, we were in a tower somewhere and she's glad I decided not to kill the mages. But, was that the dream I was having?

With Cyrano leading the way, we journey through a cellar and into the Royal Palace where Loghain has usurped the Crown. Like Howe, he will have no one to blame but himself for setting in motion a series of events that will lead to his doom. We come to the cellar door which Leliana easily picks open and we make our way stealthily through the kitchens, which oddly seem empty.

We near the entryway into the throne room and I can hear his booming voice, full of bombastic rhetoric about saving Ferelden…rubbish. It is _he_ that would destroy us all. I can feel every muscle in my body tense with quiet rage and anticipation now. This is all that I have wished for and, be it Maker or demon that brought me here, my blessings upon him. I move ahead of Fergus and crouch down to get a view into the room. I can see him now, the fiend, still droning on about his service and experience. I feel a spark in my gut that quickly grows into a flame in my heart. The intensity of my hate is so fierce that my vision grows dim for a moment and I see a ghostly image before me, a strange caricature of a man, with pulpy, scaly flesh that makes my skin crawl. I gasp and blink and the image vanishes. The creature is now gone, but I swear, it was feeding off of me…my anger and my rage, fueling its being.

Now is not the time to ponder on strange magics though and I survey the room to ensure that we are not walking into a trap. Leliana nods, telling me that the way is free from any pits or snares. There are several guards present, including his precious Ser Cauthrien. Perhaps I may be merciful enough to let her pay the headsman rather than swing from the gallows. Like Morrigan has announced, I am not a heartless shrew. Seeing no one else in the throne room, the opportunity is perfect now as if someone had set all of this up. Something screams a warning in the back of my head, but I am driven to this fate. I cannot turn back.

I signal Leliana to nock and arrow and take out the guard nearest to Loghain. She fires and the gull-feathered shaft flies true and into the throat of the soldier. His hands immediately come to his neck as he gurgles blood and sinks to his knees. I snap my fingers and Cyrano darts into the room, his fangs bared. He leaps onto another guard, knocking the man to the ground. I charge in to the sound of snarls and tearing flesh.

Fergus moves to take Cauthrien while I drive straight in for the foul heart of this treachery, Teyrn Loghain. Emerging from behind my shield, I swing the Cousland sword in a downward arc at his naked head, but Loghain is fast for a man his age and size. He dodges under my cut and grabs the handle of his big sword. I know he has to draw to defend himself and Master Aedan taught me how to deal with such moves. The draw must come from his left side so I shift to his right, just outside of the strength of his oncoming cut. As his sword clears the scabbard, I am ready and I deflect it downward with my own blade. The ring of steel pierces the room and I redirect my weapon to cut at his groin.

Loghain is an experienced swordsman and he does not fall for such a beginner's attack. He scoops his arms upward, sweeping my cut over his shoulder and wheels around in a circle, gathering momentum for his riposte. I barely have time to bring my shield up before I feel the jarring impact of his blow shivering through the wood and up my arm. My training drives me forward and I lower my head to rush into him, hurling him back with the force of my charge. We both grunt with the effort, but I realize that I've made a mistake. I feel the pommel of his sword crash down onto my helmet and my head reels in pain. I'm forced to stagger back and throw a weak cut out to distract him. But, that is another mistake.

Loghain shifts his sword again and deflects my attack into the ground. Before I can react, he steps on the flat of my blade and it snaps in the middle. A cold sense of horror shoots through my veins as I pull back the jagged shards of silverite that spring from the handle of my weapon. The Teyrn smirks, fueling my rage and hate. He makes his move to finish me.

I see his sword cock backwards for a moment before sweeping down at me. It's all moving in slow motion now and my body acts on pure instinct, sliding me out of the way as I shove the shield right in his face. Another impact jars the wood, but one is good. I hear a pained grunt and I emerge from behind the shield again to rake the jagged metal edge of my broken blade across his cheek and nose. Loghain staggers, holding his face and I toss my sword aside to seize the armored gorget around his neck. I swivel my hips and sit, pulling him down over my head to crash into the ground at my feet. In a flash, my poignard is in my hand and at his eye. I cry out in anger, baring my teeth as Cyrano would. My vengeance is at hand.

As my rage surges through my blood, my vision blurs again and I see the demon before me…He was from the Tower. I think I recall now. His sleepy eye bids me to finish this act, to play out my vengeance and be done. I can see tendrils of energy flowing from my wrathful heart towards his face to be inhaled into his preternatural lungs. I realized that I am…his food.

Loghain wheezes beneath the point of my dagger. "You foolish bitch…," he says, spitting blood. "I should have killed you when I had the chance. I would have fed you to the hounds."

A fire wells up into my breast and my hand twitches, ready to send sharp steel into his brain, but this is not Loghain…the Teyrn is smart…calculating. This…this simulacrum is merely trying to provoke me.

"Kill him!" I hear Fergus shout.

"Kill him!" Leliana cries.

It all makes sense now. The demon is in my head. Yes, a Sloth Demon…I remember now. He barred the way through the Tower as we were attempting to save the Circle. Somehow, he knows my very fears and desires and he feeds on my energy as my body lies in slumber. But, today, he will have to find new food. I will kill Loghain one day, but not for the pleasure of this creature of the Fade. Perhaps my soul is worth more to me than vengeance. I laugh and step away from my fallen foe. "I will find you, demon."

The images of Loghain and my companions shimmer for a moment before dispersing into shadow. I hear a deep, throaty chuckle before the halls of the Royal Palace shift into a bizarre, impossible landscape of mist and floating islands. I see a man, dressed as a Circle mage, sitting forlornly in front of a stone pedestal. He looks familiar. Ah yes, the man lying at the feet of the demon.

He gazes up at me and shows no enthusiasm whatsoever. How strange. I thought he might be more excited at the prospect of rescue. "Oh, welcome, my name is Niall."

**W/N** - Having your blade broken is a really sucky feeling. I've had that in fencing too, but then, you get to stop and fetch a new blade. I finally got one of "maraging" steel, which supposedly can't be snapped. I also once had my favorite bamboo shinai shatter on my husband's helmeted head. Quite dramatic.

I hope to show a little enlightenment with the Warden in how her rage is working against her. I'm thinking about a chapter with Mikhail Dryden forging a sword. And, because I'm a total geek, I named one of my shinai, Starfang.


	5. Contentment

W/N - Thanks again for the input and support! Let's look at another dreamer. I was making more silly Dragon Age icons too. I have an Anora, before and after the Landsmeet, assuming you depose her. I have one for the F Cousland too, one with Mabari hound and one with Mabari Chihuahua.

Other malarkey - I'm getting re-used to my old sword, lighter and 1/2" shorter, which forces me to not muscle the techniques or I overswing or bounce the sword because its so light. My new weapon is a couple of months away because it's being forged and hand made by some craftsman in Japan, so I'm told by the dealer. It will be interesting to go back to a heavier weapon.

Please enjoy and thank you again. :D

**The Fade**

It is everything I have ever dreamed of. The setting is perfect. The food is perfect. The children are…well, almost perfect. Granted, the home of a washer woman is not the Royal Palace of Denerim, but it's well kept and frankly, just plain quaint. I feel safe, safer than I have ever felt and I ask myself why I am wearing my armor. Hmmm, that makes no sense. I don't even recall putting my armor on now. Oh well, it doesn't matter. I quickly shed the pieces of metal covering my body and lay them on the ground. I won't need these.

I take a seat at the worn oak dining table and look at all of the nicks and scratches in the wood. It gives me such a homey feeling. Then, I hear the joyful squeals of young Nicholas and Tasha. They have been such a delight.

"Have another drink, brother," Goldanna says to me as she hands me a goblet of fruit juice. My sister is all that I have envisioned – kind, gentle, and loving. When I found out about her, I knew that I had to meet her one day. And then, there was this whole Darkspawn distraction that got in the way, preventing me from going to Denerim to meet her. I think for a moment. What ever happened to the war? Is it over now? I can't seem to remember.

I take the cup and thirstily gulp down the drink. Ahhh, the flavors are so incredible – a little tart and pulpy, just as I like it. I taste a little bit of apple in there too. Then, the scent of Cornish hen, roasting on an open flame, comes wafting into the room. I lean back and inhale the aroma like a starving man. This is the life I have always dreamed about. I can't believe that I was so worried about meeting Goldanna. I was almost paralyzed with fear that she would not like me. I agonized over telling Alice about my sister and asking if we might visit Denerim one day and seek Goldanna out. But, it seems to have all worked out.

I think again and wonder what happened to Alice. The image of her face in my mind seems fuzzy. Did she survive the war? She just seems to have disappeared. I do remember when I first saw her, back in Ostagar, so full of despair and completely disheveled. But then, we ventured into the Wilds and I saw a different person, grim and full of hate. Still, I could see something beneath all of the pain – a beautiful woman, caught up in the flood of war, trying to do what she thought was right. I wish she were still here. I'd like her to meet my sister.

And, there were others with us, I recall now. Alice had a dog…kind of a scary one too. Oh yeah, there was a mean, sarcastic apostate witch with us. Morrigan, yes, that was her name. Funny how I get her name right and she never remembers mine. Just being near that heartless shrew makes my skin crawl. And then, there was a big guy with us…a Qunari. Doesn't talk much, always wants to beat me up. And finally, a sweet Chantry sister, now, she's a talker. She has a wonderful singing voice. I could sleep to that every night. What ever happened to them? We were…we were in a tower somewhere.

Childlike giggling interrupts my thoughts and Nicholas and Tasha scramble up into my lap as Goldanna laughs gleefully. The two kids wriggle around like worms and tug on my collar playfully.

"Don't you just adore the children, Alistair," my sister says.

I let out a deep chuckle and wrap the two up in my arms to the sound of their squeals. "Oh, ho ho, uncle Alistair has you!" I growl as I nuzzle my face in their tiny chests. As they squirm in my grasp I raise my head with a contented sigh. Surely, I didn't deserve such happiness, but I wasn't going to complain. Still, the nagging thoughts about my friends wouldn't go away. I turn to Goldanna. "Do you know what happened to the people I was with? I can't seem to remember. There was a young woman who was leading us. I'd like to find her and invite her to visit some day."

My sister smiles and touches my cheek. There was something sinister in her expression though that makes my skin prickle. "Oh her…," she says, tilting her head as if thinking. "Yes, she will be joining us. That you can be sure of."

I wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disturbed. It was the way in which Goldanna spoke that seemed…seemed odd, as if something nefarious was planned. I was going to say something further when Nicholas tugs at the patch of hair on my chin.

"Uncle Alistair, play with us!"

"Yes, play with us!" Tasha adds.

I look down into their cherubic faces, but I saw a darkness that clouded their smiles and their eyes seemed to radiate a red glow that made me want to bolt up. I feel Goldanna's hand press me back down into the seat with an unnatural strength. I gasp and wince at her grip and feel as if something is draining me of will and life. I turn back to face her and, for a moment, I see her image twist into that of a monster, bloated and scaly. The creature smiles at me for a moment before it reverts back to my blonde-haired sister. Goldanna places a dish with a finely roasted hen before me, its skin crackled brown and covered in a rich cranberry sauce. The aroma of the meal fills my senses and the picture of the creature in my mind quickly fades as does any will to leave.

"Ahhh," I say as I tear off a drumstick from the hen, "you are the finest cook in all of Ferelden. You just knew what my favorite dish would be." I lick my lips in anticipation.

Goldanna strokes my hair. "I know everything that you want, Alistair, and you shall have it all."


	6. Duty

W/N - Ok, let's take another look at Sten. My first playthrough I let him die in Lothering. I did not like him my second playthrough, but he really grew on me the next time around. I enjoy exploring the Qunari culture and putting some of the nuances of it into the story. I'm still looking to do a Mikhail Dryden or Master Wade story with some forging. "Oh, Herren, you do vex me!" And, there's a little tongue in cheek nod to Mass Effect. I realized that there is a Sten in ME2 as there is an Anora. Speaking of which, I am formulating a post Normandy destruction story.

Many thanks for visiting and please enjoy. Input and suggestions are always most welcome. Leliana or Wynne might be up next.

**Duty**

I am caught in a swirling darkness like a vast whirlpool. At first, I struggle to free myself, but then I realize that whatever fate the _Qun_ has for me, it is something that I should accept. I do not know if I will perish, but I must embrace my destiny.

_Shok ebasit hissra…_the tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the _Qun._

I close my eyes and exhale as the vortex spins around me. Live or die, I have already won.

The feeling of vertigo fades slowly and I crack my eyes open, wondering where I have been swept to. I try to remember where I had just been, but the images are faint. I picture a tower and a lake. I can see the face of a woman in my head – she has black hair, something unknown among the Qunari. She is human. I remember that my respect for the humans is not great, but this one is different. She fights with a fire and a skill that is rare, even among my kind.

Through my squinted eyes I now see freshly trimmed grass and I stand amid a strange and alien city with white walls made of some unknown material. It has an order to it similar to the domains of Par Vollen and Seheron. I feel some comfort here as the _Qun_ professes an order to all things and all things have their place in the world. The humans, the elves, and the dwarves fail to understand this, which is why the _Kithshok_, or commander of the Qunari armies, must one day bring them enlightenment, by the sword if necessary. They will understand and they will embrace as they should.

Then, there is movement in the empty city and I begin to see figures walking about, translucent at first, as if they are spirits, but they solidify and I see that they are human. One of them, a man with a weather-beaten face and a mustache, nods to me. "Sten."

I do not know him and wonder how it is that he knows me. I do not respond and he walks past me without a smile. I turn, about to ask him where I am and how we know each other, but I hear screams in the distance. In a moment, panicked people begin to run past me as the mustached man dashes for an open door. I see a dark cloud on the horizon that quickly blooms into a swarm of large flying insects. I reach for my sword, but the creatures are upon me, blackening out the sky like a plague of locusts. I swat one with my hand and then feel a sting on my neck. A second later my muscles tighten and I fall to the ground, unable to move, except for my eyes.

I see the man at the door, flailing his arms. "They got Lilith! They got Sten too!" he shouts and then shuts the door, sealing himself inside a building. The swarm passes, but I am paralyzed. I see the frozen forms of dozens of people lying around me, each of us captives in our own bodies. Then, man-sized creatures, as grotesque as the Darkspawn, enter the scene and begin to put the bodies into pods. What horror is this? One of them, a giant gray insect with a massive head and many tiny eyes, looks down at me. I am at his mercy. I cannot imagine a worse fate. He laughs and, for a moment I see the insect creature shimmer to be replaced by a dark being with scaly, pulpy skin - The demon from the tower. Now I remember.

The demon stoops over me and shuts my eyes with his hand. "I am sorry, Sten. I meant to send you to a better place. Rest easy now," he says in a slow, slothful tone. "You have had your victory. Return now to the _Beresaad_ and find the embrace of your fellow warriors. You have done your duty."

All of my fears and doubts begin to slip away and I feel at ease. I feel a touch on my cheek and I open my eyes. The city and the swarm are gone and I am now on a beach where I can hear the roar of the waves and feel the grit of sand on my skin. I blink and my fingers twitch. I can move again. I shake the yellow grains from my head and hair and prop myself up. I can feel the warm sunlight and the spray of seawater.

"How did I…?" Somehow, I am back in Seheron. I take a deep breath, the smell of salt heavy on the breeze. I can see the ships of the Qunari fleet at anchor just offshore. Flag and banners of _anaan_, or victory, fly over the canvas sails and wooden masts and I know that we have conquered. But conquered what?

"Sten," I hear a voice say. I turn and see the soldiers of the _Beresaad_, the very people that I left Seheron with. How can this be? I…I seem to recall that they were all killed. In the dim recesses of my mind I can see their bodies being torn apart by Darkspawn. But yet, here they are, stoic with the proud bearings of Qunari warriors. They sit in the sand beside me, unslinging their scabbards and laying them in their laps. "We have done our duty well, Sten," one says to me, addressing me as his leader.

"What duty?" I ask, incredulous. "We were defeated. You were killed by Darkspawn during our first battle in Ferelden. I am…I am shamed."

My _Ashaad_, or scout, smirks at me. "How can that be, Sten, when we are here with you. We defeated the Darkspawn and have made our report to the _Arishok_. We are to be honored. How can you deny our presence?"

"I cannot," I say and reach out to touch him. He is solid and his words are true. Though this seems to be a dream, I cannot deny Ashaad's foundation in the _Qun_. They are here. They are real. This must be accepted. Still, I cannot shake an uneasy feeling. A flash of memory shoots through my mind. "The _Asala_…my sword, it was lost." I try to stifle a horrified look, but I fail. I reach behind my back on pure instinct and find the handle of the _Asala_. Somehow, I know I had lost my place among the Qunari, my very soul, but yet, there it was in its scabbard.

Ashaad shakes his head. "No, Sten, you found it."

I nod slowly as my mind clears of the momentary panic. "No, she found it. She returned it to me." I see the woman from my earlier vision, presenting me with the weapon. In the memory she doesn't smile, but we make eye contact, warrior to warrior. I wrap my large hand around the scabbard and reclaim my soul.

With a sigh the image fades and I sit upright and pull the sword from its sheath. I feel the familiar long draw and heavy weight of the blue steel blade. As the tip clears, I bring the weapon around in front of me and hold it in before my face. The sunlight glitters on the surface of the well oiled metal, rippling like the surface of the sea. I know every knick and scuff along this blade and everything is where it should be…everything _is _as it should be. I accept what Ashaad has told me. I have done my duty for the _Qun_. I have earned my rest.


End file.
